


Till Death Do Us Part

by DemonicAce



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Green Flu (Left 4 Dead), Heavy Angst, Infection, Inspired by Left 4 Dead (Video Games), Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Married Couple, Original Character(s), Sad, Suicide, Zombies, bitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicAce/pseuds/DemonicAce
Summary: A short story/love story in the L4D universe.





	Till Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: suicide (not super graphic, I wasn't sure how to include it in the archive warnings)
> 
> This started out as a vague idea of "what would happen if there was a Romeo and Juliet type story in the L4D universe" and evolved into this. I ended up very loosely following the plot, and it turned into its own little thing.
> 
> Feel free to give me suggestions.

My hands still shaking with adrenaline, I struggle to bandage Ross’s arm, the non-stick pad nearly falling onto the questionably brown sofa he was sitting on. I grit my teeth against the tears brought on by the guilt and anger clawing in my chest. I finally secure the pad with gauze around his arm, held in place by our last bit of sports tape. I stride away and recheck the door he and I had hastily barricaded with an abandoned TV stand, and once I was sure it wouldn’t budge I hastily check the pre-boarded windows. I haven’t been able to look him in the eye since we ran in here; a tense silence settled on the room, broken only by the sporadic sound of very distant gunfire. I rechecked the bedroom and bathroom for any lingering common infected, now finally left with nothing but to stand awkwardly in the hallway, my back to him. “Jackie… it’s not your fault.” Ross started gently.

“You damn well know it is!” I snapped, no longer able to avoid the inevitable. “I should’ve been more careful! It was a stupid, rookie mistake! If I had been on my guard, you wouldn’t have-“ I choked, unable to say it.

“Stop blaming yourself, that’s not going to help anyone! Besides, I’m the dumbass who used himself as a battering ram instead of using something like, oh I don’t know, the gun strapped to my leg!” Ross argued, taking the opportunity my pause presented.

“We’re supposed to protect ourselves and each other! I failed on both accounts and because of that now-now you could be really hurt! I just- the rations were right there and I- I-” I yelled, tears streaming down my freckled face. I turned around and walked to the window, running my hand through my knotted red hair in frustration. The rations were right there and I ran without looking. Had I, I would’ve seen that hunter, or at the very least been able to stop it myself. He shielded me and now he was bitten. It’s all my fault. I heard him get up off the couch and walk towards me, but I couldn’t turn around, still lost drowning in self blame. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, leaning on me like he used to when I’d be in the middle of something and he could see I was getting stressed, pressing his lips against my cheek. 

“Jax, I don’t blame you.” he whispers, the sincerity of his words making my heart ache. I sank to my knees, and started to cry harder while he held me. “You have a habit of taking responsibility for things that aren’t really yours to take responsibility for. If you go on like that, you’ll wear yourself down to nothing, and that’d be a damn shame because you’re really something.” I smiled as a sob escaped my chest, holding his arms tighter.

* * * * *

Ross had fallen asleep somewhat quickly. I had laid down next to him, but I couldn’t sleep. I was still too shaken from our run in earlier. As I tossed about on the floor in front of the couch, which he only let me take after another bout of arguing, my stomach began twisting itself into knots as he took a turn for the worse. As he slept his breathing got raspy, he started coughing intermittently, and sweat began to glint down his flushed face, making his thick locks of black hair stick to his forehead. All the while his usually dark skin was starting to turn a sickening shade of grey.

As the morning light crept through the gaps between the boards on the windows, I had gotten up as quietly as possible and spent the next two hours or so busying myself. I had counted our ammunition eight times, accounted for and repacked our supplies four times and have been constantly checking the barricades. Anything to keep myself distracted.

I look out the window for the tenth time in the past five minutes, still unable to fall asleep, at the same couple of common infected plodding in circles on the sidewalk below, that I’d dubbed Carl, Anderson, and F*** I Hate My Life. The rising sun casting a wash of red over everything created an almost serene outlook, one that Ross and I would’ve enjoyed over cups of decaffeinated coffee, remarking about how it looked like a scene painted by some famous artist. Neither of us were really art buffs. The fact it looked like I was going to lose Ross bubbles to the surface. My husband of 3 years, the one who always looked on the bright side of things, able to make me smile even when I was in the shittiest of moods. Who had managed to stay positive through these two weeks of hell. 

Carl, Anderson and FIHML still aren’t doing anything interesting, so I resort to sitting in the corner with my head between my knees, crying as quietly as I could. Ross suddenly jerks up and begins violently coughing. I practically jump out of my skin as I scramble up to help him. He grips my shoulder as he desperately hacks and gasps for air for what feels like ages. He releases my shoulder and slumps back into a sitting position on the couch, looking at me with disturbingly clouded eyes that were tinged with a nauseous orange. “I’m not going to make it…” he rasped, the quality of his voice making my heart drop into my already knotted stomach.

“C-come on, don’t talk like that” I stuttered, trying to push past the shock of how he had gone from bad to worse so quickly. 

“You and I both know I’m infected and… But I..I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not you. But I can’t… ask you to kill me either. I should do it now, while… I have the chance…” He said pausing to catch his breath and trying to stop coughing. I opened my mouth to interrupt but “I’m already… I can feel…”

“No! We can figure something out. We’ll-we’ll-…!” I stammered, fresh tears starting to fall down my cheek. Deep down I know it’s hopeless. I’d seen enough turned people in the past two weeks to know this. Once you’re to this point you’re done for. There’s no going back. I buried my face into his chest as tears started really falling; his fingers ran through my hair and I could hear him crying as well.

* * * * *

“You don’t have to do this alone.” I said as we start moving the TV stand from the door.

“I don’t need you for this!” he snarled, clutching an extra pistol loaded with a single bullet, his hand trembling. I couldn’t help but jump at his outburst, and for a moment my stomach churned at the thought of the loaded weapon in his hand. He put his forehead in his hand, breathing heavily, jamming the gun into the holster still attached to his leg. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry i didn’t mean-… I… I didn’t mean to… you need to get going, your last memory of me shouldn’t be… I don’t care if it is the apocalypse, I couldn’t do that to you…You packed?” he rambled, looking ashamed. I nodded; he had insisted when we were talking this through that he didn’t want me seeing him spattered across the pavement, didn’t want me to mentally scar myself for his sake. I take one more glance around the room, making sure I didn’t leave anything, trying to hide the anxiety on my face. I need to keep moving towards the safe zone, but getting to the next safe room will be nearly impossible alone; I’m terrified, but I don’t want that to be the last thing he thinks about. I’ll be left alone regardless, no need to burden him with my fears in his final moments. We finish un-barricading the door and I and face him. I open my mouth to say goodbye, but I never was good at this and there are so many thoughts swirling in my head I can’t put them into words. He understands, he always did; he walks forward and we hold each other one last time.

“I love you.” I said, feeling a morbid sense of finality around the phase as I spoke it.

“I love you too” he replied, forcing a smile as another bead of sweat dripped down his clammy brow.

As he lets go and treads out the door, I follow behind and use all of my will power to turn and go in the opposite direction, walking to the stairs going down instead of the roof access where he is going. I can hear him all the way down the tiled hallway as his heels click against the floor. I can only manage a slow meander down the hallway as the sounds of him going up the stairs fade to silence. Its unbearable. I wait for it to be cut short by the familiar but muffled crack of the pistol as I start to force myself down the stairs, but it continues to drag on. I stop at the bottom of the first flight of stairs, unable to continue until I know he’s really gone. Ten minutes pass and still nothing. I start slowly making my way back through the hallway and up the stairs, needing to know what happened, that what I think happened didn’t. Maybe he was just a bit hesitant, trying to work up the nerve. Thoughts of curiosity and the cat and Ross’ final wishes flitted through my mind as I neared the door to the roof. The mid-morning sun illuminated the stairwell through the open door at the top, enough for me to see a puddle of blood at the top dripping down the stairs, with no body in sight. Fear swelled in my chest, and I unholster my pistol, my suspicions all but confirmed. I get onto the roof and look around, but it’s empty and deserted aside from Ross’ pistol laying all on its lonesome on the concrete.

I stand there, dumbstruck, trying to figure out what to do next. Something behind me growls; a growl I know all to well. I spin around just in time to see Ross, covered in blood and crouching on the pavement, baring a beast-like set of canines, his orange eyes staring at me unseeingly. I point the gun at his chest but I freeze; I can’t pull the trigger. He screams and springs forward, knocking me to the ground and straddling me. I’m stunned and left to gasp for air as he slashes into my stomach. I cry out and I crack him in the head with the butt of the pistol I had managed to hold onto, sending him sprawling onto his side. He doesn’t move. I push his leg off of me, and crawl away towards the edge of the roof. Leaning against the barrier, I point the gun at him again, adrenaline pumping and flight or fight response in full swing, yet I still feel the same surge of hesitance, like a huge hand crushing my chest. He lays motionless as I fight with myself and try to pull the trigger, arguing that this is what he would’ve wanted. I knew it wasn’t though. He knew I wouldn’t be able to do it, which is probably the reason he didn’t ask me in the first place. I shakily get onto my feet to get back downstairs, away from Ross, guilt welling in my chest as I look at his body laying motionless on the ground. “If I can’t kill him, I’ll make sure that he won’t… won’t…” I thought, feeling hazy.

I suddenly feel weak, and my mind seems foggier then it should, even with not getting any sleep last night. My head starts to spin and I fall forward, skinning my elbows and forearms, and sending the gun skittering in front of me, towards Ross. I could feel blood start to run down my lips, despite not having hitting my face on the ground. The blood gathered in a pool beneath me. This must’ve have been what happened to Ross right before he turned. “The blood must have been on Ross’s hands, so when he cut me…it got in the wound…” I thought disjointedly. I desperately crawl towards the gun, gripping it by the barrel and dragging it towards me. I can barely move, and my vision is fading. I clumsily shift my grip on the gun and put the barrel under my chin. I pull the trigger and hear a click, but nothing happens. I pull it again with the same result. The damn thing jammed. A bray of delirious laughter escapes my mouth and I let the gun fall back to the ground. This is whole situation out of a Shakespearean play. I look back at Ross, and the last thing I saw before everything went black, was him getting to his knees, staring at me with his blank orange eyes.

* * * * *


End file.
